


Hold My Hand

by HawkizeFanfiction



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Fluff, M/M, ZaDr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkizeFanfiction/pseuds/HawkizeFanfiction
Summary: Dib recalls the first time he held Zim's hand.





	Hold My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this one-shot is based off of the background/pasts of Zim and Dib in our WIP fanfic, The Plot Thickens, that we are working on on Tumblr (to be posted to AO3 one day). You can follow us: @dib-beast and @the-great-and-powerful-zim!

It was like it was yesterday…

* * *

Dib sat on the couch, flipping through channels. It was an unusually _hot_ late September evening. He’d just finished his assignments for the week, even though it was only Tuesday, and he was _bored_. He was ready to just finish skool and move _on_ with his life. He was already a couple years ahead of his classmates in his work, and was in all AP-level classes. Zim wasn’t far behind. Unfortunately, they still had a few years to go. Gaz was up in her room playing one of her games, and their dad, as usual, was at work. Always at work. He rolled his eyes with a groan, turning the table fan toward himself and staring at the ceiling. The minutes were going by like _hours_ —

That is, until his doorbell rang. A grin split across Dib’s face unconsciously. There was only one person who used their doorbell, and that was _Zim_. He wasn’t expecting the alien over, as the brat had gone into a huge tirade about needing to be _home_ to do his _planning_ to take over Earth. _‘Yeah, right,’_ he’d thought. He knew Zim had practically given up at that point.

Dib leaped off the couch and hurried to the door, absently adjusting his clothes. He didn’t have his boots or jacket on—it was too damn hot—instead just in an _Aliens are Real_ t-shirt and a pair of ripped up jeans. No, he didn’t buy them like that. He tore them to pieces chasing Zim through the woods last week. He didn’t even know why they still _faked_ that routine. He swung open the door, expression changing to a smug one.

“Well, space boy. Decided to show up after all, _hmm_?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning.

“Zim INDEED had much _better things to do_ , Dib-smell. HOWEVER, I have _finished_ … them. MOVE,” Zim shoved past the human in the same clothing he’d worn at skool that day—his normal uniform, but he also had on those fake glasses, plaid scarf, and the hat on that he loved so much. His boots had also risen a few inches in the two years they started high skool. Zim loved a heel. Dib pulled his lip into his mouth and began worrying it, closing the door behind the Irken as he flopped onto the couch as if he owned it. _“Where_ are the snacks?”

Dib’s brow furrowed. “You entitled little— _ugh,_ here, one second.” He hurried into the kitchen, rummaging around through the cupboards for something they could snack on, before he got a better idea. He tugged out two pints of ice cream, vanilla for himself and cake batter for Zim. He rolled his eyes at the sickly sweet pint, grabbing spoons for them and making his way back into the living room. “Here,” he said, holding out the pint.

Zim chirped as he accepted it from the human, tugging off the lid and chucking it carelessly over his shoulder, immediately scooping a spoonful into his mouth. Dib’s shoulders drooped and his head rolled back in exhaustion.

“Can you _not_ throw sticky ice cream lids on my floor?”

Zim only shrugged in response but otherwise making no sign that he’d heard Dib’s request. Dib, instead, plucked up the lid and threw it into the nearest trash can before joining Zim on the couch. It was _hot_ , and ice cream was perfect. He watched Zim for a few minutes before he blushed and looked away.

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” He asked, grabbing the remote off the side table and opening up the recordings menu on the TV. “There’s one I’ve wanted to watch with you for a while.”

“Mmph?” Zim asked, spoon hanging out of his mouth as he turned to Dib. He shrugged again and continued shoveling ice cream into his mouth.

“ _Alien_ ,” Dib said, a grin splitting across his face as he put on the movie.

Zim’s groan was _loud_ , and he shrunk into the couch with a scowl. “ _Really_ , Dib? _THAT_ is the movie you wish to show Zim? _Alien_?” He rolled his eyes and clacked his teeth against the spoon.

“One, don’t do that. That sound is _awful_. Two, it’s an amazing movie. One of my favourites.”

Zim clacked his teeth against the spoon again in sly indignation before leaning back into the couch and watching as the movie began.

It was quiet only for a short time. _Immediately_ , as Zim was wont to do, he began talking through the _entire thing_. Dib’s eye began twitching almost instantaneously.

“ _WHAT_ on _IRK_ is that ship? Such _primitive_ and _SUBPAR_ technology. I mean, those cryptochambers? Irk hasn’t used designs that rudimentary in 400 years!” The Irken flailed his arms, lensed eyes narrowing at the screen.

“Zim. Stuff it and watch the movie.”

 _“HOW_ can you expect Zim _not_ to comment on how _atrocious_ this is, Dib-stink?!”

“Just. Shut up. _WATCH,_ ” Dib rolled his eyes.

Zim was silent for only a few moments. He immediately continued prattling on, judging the entire movie. It was _scientifically inaccurate_ , the alien was _horrible_ —and yet Zim managed to root for the damn thing throughout the entire. Movie.

“OBVIOUSLY those eggs are dangerous. They _look_ dangerous. Are they _STUPID IN THE BRAIN?!_ ” Zim shouted, and Dib rolled his eyes harder than he thought possible—but he found himself smiling all the same.

He didn’t think Zim realized how _endearing_ he was. The shouting, the insulting, the fidgeting and inability to just sit still. That cute outfit, his big buggy eyes—with a sigh, Dib reached out, taking the Irken’s small, gloved hand in his own.

“Stuff it, Space Boy,” he said, turning his attention back to the TV.

He wasn’t sure what happened, but he felt Zim squeeze his hand back, and aside from the television, the room had gone silent.

* * *

Now, he’s with me, sitting in my shitty studio apartment, that he’d cleaned top to bottom to ward off germs. He’s curled under my arm, that same hand resting on my chest. I think he’s asleep.

Despite everything— _he’s here_.


End file.
